


Catch and Release

by Pragnificent (PragmaticHominid)



Series: Identically Different AU [8]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Established Relationship, Hannibal Loves Will, Just a big old tangle of feelings, M/M, Murder Husbands, Murder Husbands on the Run, Will Loves Hannibal, Will is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-12 13:16:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15995984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PragmaticHominid/pseuds/Pragnificent
Summary: After Will and Hannibal fail to capture the target they'd planned to kill together, Hannibal finds other ways to distract Will from his frustrated disappointment.Short story set in the IDAU role reversal universe, which takes place about four years after the primary events of "Imago."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JonathansNightFlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonathansNightFlight/gifts), [ByJoveWhatASpend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ByJoveWhatASpend/gifts).



> Hey guys, been a long time since I wrote something for this AU, yeah?
> 
> As stressful as these boys are, it was nice to slip back into this series briefly, it's like visiting with old friends, but I will be back with more HanniShark as soon as I can manage. Life is kind of overwhelming right now, but I'm sorry that updates have slowed. 
> 
> CW in this one for brief, non-graphic discussion of past rape/CSA. 
> 
> This fic is set midway through the epilogue of IMAGO, about four years after Will and Hannibal demolish the bounty hunters that kidnapped Will and maybe a year after they bought the yacht. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy - kudos/comments are always cherished.

Will climbs down the stairs into the yacht’s cabin area, and turns a sharp right into the bedroom he shares with Hannibal. He can feel the boat beginning to move as above deck Hannibal undoes the moorings and takes them away from the docks and toward open water. The movement makes Will sway unsteadily on his feet, and he feels anger roiling inside of himself over the sense of having been knocked off balance. 

It’s an unjustified overreaction, he knows, irrational and unfair, and he tries to push the razor-edged sense of resentment down, worried that Hannibal might clock it when he joins Will for bed. He doesn’t have much luck in jettisoning that anger, but manages to redirected it back towards the person who actually deserves it - the mean bastard he and Hannibal just wasted hours trailing through the port city, who for all their efforts didn’t have the consideration to provide them with an opportunity to snatch him up. 

Dissatisfied, the frustrated disappointment twisting in his guts, Will empties his pockets out onto the top of the dresser, dumping the folding knife and the length of rope and the hypodermic needles into an untidy pile next to his billfold and spare change, and then he goes into the bathroom to get ready for bed. 

Hannibal comes downstairs while he is in the shower. When Will steps into bedroom, wearing nothing but the towel around his waist, hair still a damp tangle, he finds Hannibal standing in front of the dresser. 

Hannibal has striped down for bed himself, and is nude aside for his boxers, and Will studies him in profile. There is such an uncanny beauty to him, and Will finds him soothed by the odd dissonance of Hannibal’s particular flavor of masculinity, a taste all his own, the unexpected softness in places where Will might have expected roughness, like stone draped in crushed velvet. His hair, more silver than grey, flows down his shoulders, and around the edges of the curtain of it Will can see the teeth marks, the scar tissue faded and pale in some places, pink and gleaming in others. The freshest bite, only a few days old, is still livid with a suck bruise.

He knows that Hannibal is aware of being watched - knows that he enjoys the feeling of Will’s eyes on his body, can read it in the slight upward tilt of his head as Hannibal stands frozen in thoughtful stillness. 

There’s some meat on him now, at least - not a lot of extra, but enough that Will doesn’t worry about that too often. From where he is standing, Will would be hard pressed to count Hannibal’s ribs, even when he moves his arm from his side to reach out towards the dresser. 

Those graceful, heavily knuckled hands lift the rope from the dresser top, regarding it speculatively, and Will feels himself drawn to him, so when Hannibal turns to look in his direction Will finds himself close enough to him that he can see that Hannibal’s pupils are blown. 

He makes no effort to hide his desire, nor his curiosity at how Will might respond to it. 

Will is not trying to be aggressive or threatening when he says, “If you try to restrain me I will kill you and then I will kill myself. Don’t ever try that, Hannibal.” It is self-indictment, and a simple statement of the facts as they are. 

It doesn’t fluster Hannibal in the slightest. “I know it,” he says, untroubled. “I wasn’t thinking about things in terms of you being the one who was tied up.”

Will’s heart, which had been pounding hard in his chest, creeps downward and tries to hide behind his liver, and suddenly he is begging. “Please don’t ask for anything like that. I can’t, Hannibal. It’s not safe. I can’t.”

Hannibal inclines his head minutely and puts the rope to the side, removing it from the picture, but Will has the shakes now, and he turns away from Hannibal to go sit on the far side of the bed. He hunches over himself, arms curled around his own chest, feeling small - wanting to be smaller, small enough to be invisible - wondering why, after all these fucking years he still has such a hair trigger, always poised on the edge of explosive panic, and cursing himself for it. 

A few minutes pass, and then Hannibal’s weight settles onto the bed behind Will. He slides across the mattress, settling himself in cross-legged behind Will. 

The two of them are quiet for a while longer, Hannibal giving Will the time he needs to pull himself back to what passes for having himself together, allowing him also to acclimate to Hannibal’s presence. 

Then Hannibal’s fingertips brush the nape of Will’s neck, and when Will leans into the touch instead of shying away from it, Hannibal’s hands close over Will’s shoulders. He begins to rub them, trying to work the knots out, and Will becomes conscious of how stiff he was only when he begins to loosen up a little under Hannibal’s touch. 

“I’m giving you a real workout, huh?” he says.

“You hold so much tension in your body, Will,” Hannibal tells him. “It isn’t good for you.” 

Will is silent for a time, save for a handful of small sighs and a single soft groan as Hannibal’s hands work over his shoulders and his upper back and the back of his neck, letting himself be tended to. 

After a while he says, “It was supposed to get better after I told you about it, is the thing.”

“It has gotten better,” Hannibal tells him. “The improvement has been considerable.”

“I know it,” Will admits, though it’s true and not true at the same time; sex has gotten more difficult, since he told Hannibal about the rapes, but it has become easier to communicate - to himself as well as to Hannibal - when he is having those difficulties and why. 

“But less bad isn’t the same thing as better,” Will goes on. “Everything is still such a fucking mess, Hannibal, inside me. I’m so scared. I’m scared for you.”

 Hannibal leans in so close that Will can feel his breath on the back of his neck, and he says, “You’re safe, Will. You’re safe,” He repeats those words, “You’re safe,” over and over again, and Will knows that they carry two distinct meanings - you won’t be hurt by me and I’m not afraid of you hurting me - and eventually something different starts to happen, and this stops being chaste back rub and starts to be something else, and Hannibal is saying, “You’re safe, Will,” against the curve of Will’s throat as Will turns his head to meet Hannibal’s lips, and the words go down Will’s throat and settle into his belly as they kiss, and by then the work of Hannibal’s hands and his voice have brought Will to a good enough place that he’s able to allow himself to lean back and enjoy it when Hannibal gets down on his knees in front of Will and parts his thighs. 

Hannibal’s mouth is on the inside of Will’s thighs, still breathing those three words against his skin, and when he leans in just a little closer to Will and allows his lips to just barely brush against the tip of Will’s cock, Will gasps out loud. 

His fingers tighten around Hannibal’s shoulders in anticipation, but instead of drawing him into his mouth, Hannibal lifts his head look up at Will. He hadn’t really believed that eyes could sparkle with delight, not until he’d seen the way Hannibal looks at him at moments like these. 

But what Hannibal says is, “Don’t squeeze so tightly, please.”

“I’m sorry,” Will says, and loosens his grip on Hannibal’s shoulders. There is, Will knows, often a stiffness in Hannibal’s shoulders these days, a reminder of all the times that Will bit down too hard or too often, the times when his teeth went further than skin-deep. Hannibal professes to be untroubled by it, to enjoy the vague ache as love mementos of time spent close to one another, but seeing even slight signs of discomfort in Hannibal worries Will, especially when he knows himself to be the cause. Far more troubling, he worries that there might be considerably more pain beneath the occasional sigh or wince, the brief hesitation before extending his arm to reach for something from the top shelves, but that Hannibal has secreted this pain away to spare Will the guilt, or to avoid discouraging him from using his teeth.

Hannibal is, Will knows perfectly well by now, often stunningly manipulative. He accepts this about him, but would rest easier if he thought Hannibal used that talent for manipulation to his own benefit more often than he employs it to shield Will. 

But now Hannibal says, “Be gentle with me this time, Will. I’ll be good to you so you be gentle with us both.” Will hears the cadence of his own voice in those words, the blurring together of their speech patterns that comes with so many years spent at the center of each other’s universe. 

“I will,” he says, and then - as though he doubts the sincerity of his own words, or believes that Hannibal might have some cause to do so - he adds, “I promise.” 

And Hannibal is gentle with him. Delicate. He doesn’t start things off so abruptly that Will feels overwhelmed, nor does he draw it out for so long that Will becomes frantic. The way in which he sucks Will’s cock is practiced and almost matter of fact, confidence born of experience and an intimate understanding of what Will both wants and needs in this moment.

When Will approaches his climax, Hannibal does not draw Will’s cock from his mouth and finish him with his hand, like he usually does. He swallows, and Will watches, mystified, as Hannibal’s throat works. 

Hannibal has come to anticipate the meat, following the kills that they make together, but Will knows that the idea of consumption of any kind, in association with someone whom he loves, can still ignite in Hannibal profoundly complicated feelings.  

It’s something special, what Hannibal has just done for him, and that makes Will feel that much shittier about what he is about to tell Hannibal. 

Hannibal is still in his boxers when he gets back into bed beside Will, and though Will can’t see more than the outline of his erection he knows that it is there. 

Usually, that would be just fine. That would be beautiful to him, and he would only want to see more - to see and touch and taste and feel - but Will has maggots in his brain tonight, and he can’t seem to shake them no matter how hard he tries. 

“What if I told you that I can’t return the favor right now?”

Hannibal’s gaze is steady and unoffended. “You don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do, Will.” 

“I want to, though. I just don’t think I can.” Will wets his lips. “I shouldn’t, is what I mean. This helped, Hannibal, really, but I’m still wound up. My head is making all kinds of associations that I don’t want and can’t predict.”

Hannibal climbs to his feet, and comes around to Will’s side of the bed. He bends to cup the back of Will’s skull, tilting his head forward so he can place a kiss on the crown of Will’s head. 

Then Hannibal climbs the stairs up to the deck, and under the glimmer of stars that are already brighter for the distance they have put between themselves and the lights of the port city, and quietly and efficiently he takes care of himself. 


	2. Chapter 2

Before he goes back downstairs, Hannibal baits a hook and drops the line over the back of the yacht. 

When he comes back to bed, a few minutes later, Will snuggles up to him, looking for reassurance. “Sorry,” he mutters against the skin that overlays Hannibal’s shoulder blade. 

“You’re alright, Will?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I think that I am. It’s frustrating, that we didn’t get that one, but I don’t think it’s going to eat at me the way it might have used to.

“But we should try again soon.” Then, with fragile pride, he adds, “It’s been a while since last time.”

Hannibal rolls onto his back, and Will scoots in closer to press himself against Hannibal’s side, resting his head on his bicep. 

Hannibal lifts his head from the pillow to meet Will’s eyes. “I would have liked to give him to you,” he says. “I wanted to see what you would do this time.”

His disappointment makes Will’s own sense of frustration feel less important, and Will turns away from his own tremulous emotions to help Hannibal manage his own. “There’s going to be other chances.” 

It’s not much to offer, but Hannibal at least appreciates the effort. He strokes the edge of Will’s neck, just behind the curl of his ear, and Will snuggles in closer.

Will tries to let himself relax into Hannibal’s touch, but their missed target is still on his mind. He wonders if the man has made his way home yet - if he is, at this very minute, using his fists on his wife and their girls. 

These days Will takes it for granted that Hannibal can read his thoughts. Will is not surprised when he says, “He won’t start up again this soon after an arrest.”

“Probably not,” Will allows.

“Maybe she’ll see the writing on the wall and leave him.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Will says, and hears in his own voice the weary anger that comes upon him, these days, when something hits too close to the bone. “And maybe she’ll try to leave and he’ll kill them all to stop that from happening.”

“It may turn out that way,” Hannibal grants, calmly. 

Neither of them suggest going back to the city to try to tail the lost mark a second time. There is a chance that the man was clever rather than lucky in avoiding them, and the risk is too great. 

He is not as emotionally invested in the question as is Will, but it pleases Hannibal to know that Will cares so much. 

He turns his head to bury his nose in Will’s messy curls, and then breathes in his scent. It feels like home, that scent, in a way that nothing else ever has. 

“There’s so much kindness in you,” he tells Will. “You want to save everyone, every last person except for the ones who you would kill.”

Will drops his eyes, but he’s blushing. “Cut it out,” he says, squirming against Hannibal. “I get embarrassed when you’re so damn sappy, you know that.”

“We all have our compulsions,” Hannibal says, leaning in again to kiss Will on the forehead. “I can’t help mine.”

 

Will wakes up a little before dawn. 

He’s feeling guilty, in the light of the new day, over having failed to get Hannibal off in return when Hannibal was so good and patient with him, and even though he knows perfectly well that Hannibal is not angry with him he can’t help but beat himself up a little over it. 

_ I’m exhausting,  _ he thinks, and wonders for perhaps the thousandth time how it can be that Hannibal is not exhausted with him yet.  

When he climbs up onto the deck he sees the fishing line that Hannibal put over the edge the night before, and thinking that he will make Hannibal something nice for breakfast if they caught anything, he pulls the line in. 

There’s a fish on the line, and though it’s a big one it puts up very little fight. It’s likely been hooked most of the night, and as a consequence is too worn out to do anything but flap its tail feebly when Will lands it. 

Will has, in his time, killed hundreds of fish, but for reasons he cannot begin to articulate, even to himself, the plight of this specific fish, as it lays gasping on the deck, gets under Will’s skin, and he can’t stand the idea of killing it, so instead he unhooks the fish carefully and lets it back into the water, though he isn’t sure if it will be able to survive. 

But that’s not enough to soothe whatever’s gotten into him, so Will opens the livewell where they keep the little baitfish and start to set them free as well, and when he begins to release the little fish, netting them one at a time and carrying them to the edge of the boat and dropping them into the water to watch them dart away, he very quickly become nearly frantic to have the job done, so it is not surprising that one of the minnows manages to slip the net. 

It flops across the deck, silver body arching as it flips itself towards the stairwell, and when Will moves to chance after it he sees Hannibal watching from the stairs. 

_ He’s seen everything,  _ Will realizes. 

Hannibal is by no means laughing at him, as he bends and picks the minnow up by the tail fin, but Will feels laughable, and it stings. 

Hannibal asks, “Are you giving up meat, Will?

“No,” Will says. “I can't imagine that I could if I wanted to.”

“You mean to stop fishing?”

“Nope. I don’t plan on that at all.” 

“But no more live bait, then?”

Will is shamefaced. “I'll probably get some more when we stop at the next port.”

He is worried, because he can’t help being worried, that Hannibal will call him a hypocrite or point out how irrational all of this is. 

But instead, Hannibal nods, thoughtfully. “Alright,” he says, and walks to the railing. He drops the rouge minnow down into the water, then he turns back to Will. “In that case, let me help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First half of this one go the quietest reception of any fic since I joined the fandom - I don't think I have any other one comment Hannibal fics - so I am hoping this one fairs a little better. 
> 
> I shouldn't try to articulate my feeling in this regard this late at night, and I want to be clear that this isn't hard feelings or me trying to manipulate anyone into commenting or anything, but my thing is that I am very invested in this AU, for very personal reasons, and I am constantly terrified of ruining it or souring people on it. 
> 
> It's a weird source of anxiety for me, because I love these versions of Will and Hannibal so much and want to do right by them and tell stories that get people to feel the same way about them that I feel, but I'm worried that I am wearing out their welcome and that's why this one kind of flopped. 
> 
> I think I might have a few other short stories in mind for these guys, but I'm very much on the fence at this point as to whether I ought to write them, so if you are interested it's good to let me know, because that will factor into my decision making process.


End file.
